Three-Quarter Time
by Heero de Fanel
Summary: Neither Machias or Emma would consider themselves graceful nor particularly fleet of foot, but nevertheless; they still danced. SPOILERS for CSI, CSIII, and CSIV.


**Three-Quarter Time**

AN: Quick bit of bookworm fluff, because I love writing these two and probably won't ever stop. The first part takes place during CSI, the second during CSIII, and the third post CSIV; SPOILERS, so read at your own discretion!

* * *

"Ah, I was wondering where you were. Needed some time away from the hustle and bustle too, I take it?"

Machias looked up from where he was seated on the edge of the field to see a smiling Emma, her hand raised in greeting.

"Emma," he replied with a polite nod, setting his book down when his counterpart approached. "Honestly, just a little bit. After the festival performance and what happened with the Old Schoolhouse yesterday," he said, grimacing a little at the memory, "I still feel a little… out of sorts. Besides, I'm not exceptionally fond of large gatherings as is."

She hummed in agreement as she joined him on the soft grass, both of them absentmindedly listening to the nearby cacophony and relishing in their (comparatively) peaceful surroundings.

"… What are you reading?" she asked, almost certainly the only member of Class VII that would inquire about the book instead of why he had it out when a celebration was going on not far away.

"A collection of myths and fables from Nord," Machias answered, tapping the cover with his index finger. "Gaius mentioned it a little while ago and I asked him to borrow it. I had intended to cross it off my list earlier, but…"

Emma's eyes lit up. "I remember him telling me about that too!" she exclaimed, her interest piqued. "I had intended to ask him about it myself, but it slipped my mind with all the preparation we were doing for the concert…"

Machias chuckled quietly, the sound warm and resonant. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind my passing it onto you as soon as I'm finished. I think you'll like it quite a bit, esteemed folklore scholar that you are."

Her cheeks warmed at that, but she didn't deny the charge. "Hehe. I look forward to finding out. But before I get too sidetracked…"

He blinked, looking confused. "Wait, did you need me for something?" he asked. He had been under the impression that all their duties had been taken care of, but…

"Well… yes, you might say that. You see, the dance is still going on, and…"

Judging from the nervous smile she was wearing and the way she was playing with her skirt, something must have shown on his face in spite of his best efforts.

"And…?" he probed, not particularly enamored with where this was going.

"A-And as Class VII's president and vice president respectively, I'd say that part of our responsibilities is partaking in the festivities, wouldn't you agree?" she finished with a resolute nod, the flames from the distant bonfires casting an orange glow onto her glasses.

He exhaled roughly, shaking his head as he tried to formulate a polite denial. "I-I'm really not the best dancer, Emma."

She shrugged, evidently not caring. "I hardly count as a dancer myself."

"Truly, I wouldn't know where to begin."

"We would have examples all around us," she countered immediately.

"… Y-Your feet will probably regret this?" he managed, and he wasn't quite sure how what was meant to be a statement ended up as a question.

Her lips turned upwards, her offensive continuing without mercy. "Quite possibly. That said, I think that's for them to decide, isn't it?"

He said nothing (did he want to keep searching for an escape route, play this game until the end, or simply resign gracefully?) until Emma stood up and held out her hands, palms extended upwards.

"Dance with me, Machias?" she asked, a shy, hopeful smile on her face, and _damn it all, _down went his king.

"I meant what I said, you know. Your feet are going to regret this immensely," he groused even as he slipped his hands into hers and let himself be tugged to his feet.

"Oh, I'm sure one excursion on the dance floor won't hurt them too badly," Emma teased as she pulled him along to the middle of the field, and Machias couldn't find it in himself to be truly annoyed, not when she was beaming at him in a way that made his pulse race and his breath catch.

_Focus on that_, he told himself. _Focus on that._

"See? This isn't so bad, is it?" she whispered as they began to sway, the moon's light gleaming above them and her head resting on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world, and as the tension gradually drained away from muscles that were tensed and coiled, Machias supposed that no; it really wasn't.

Now, if he could just keep dodging her feet and remember when exactly he had to…

* * *

"… Twirl," came the 'whispered' hint, the shifting orbit of the swordsman and the archer having briefly taken the dancing pair by Machias and Emma.

"Thank you, Rean," Machias 'whispered' back through gritted teeth, much to the amusement of their respective partners. "Whatever would I do without the waltz expertise of the Ashen Chevalier?"

"No idea. I'd have paid good mira to see it though," Alisa quipped, winking at Machias as Rean adroitly spun her away towards Millium and (a struggling with the height difference) Jusis, much to his consternation.

"You're doing fine, Machias," Emma soothed with a warm smile, drawing his attention back onto her. "You could stand to relax a little, mind."

"I-I'm perfectly relaxed!" he snapped reflexively, convincing absolutely no one within earshot.

"Compared to earlier, when it felt like I was dancing with a combat shell? I fully agree," she teased, removing one hand from his shoulder to tap him on the nose. "What's wrong? My footwork hasn't regressed _that _much, has it?"

He rolled his eyes skyward, eliciting a giggle. "Oh yes, because your supposed footwork deficiencies are always at the forefront of my mind."

She raised a slim eyebrow in reply and sent a covert glance at the surrounding aristocrats, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "It's not the nobles, is it?"

"… I'm not going to dignify that with a response," he grumbled, ignoring Emma's small grin and carefully moving in tandem with her all the while. "Honestly, nothing's wrong. Maybe I'm feeling a little self-conscious at the moment, but that's all, I assure you."

She nodded. "It does feel somewhat nerve-wracking to have all these people focused on the dance floor," Emma agreed, remembering the comfort that the cloak of darkness had brought them during the festival. "I would be more comfortable without spectators myself, but from my understanding this is common for royal gatherings."

"My father said the same thing," he murmured, glancing at Kurt and Juna as they momentarily passed by, the swordsman and the tonfa specialist both looking surprisingly at ease with the proceedings. "It's certainly different hearing about it secondhand as opposed to experiencing it, to say the least. Goddess only knows that I could do without looking into a sea of faces everywhere we turn…"

A soft touch on his cheek brought his musings to a halt.

"Then don't look at them," Emma told him gently, steadily holding his gaze with her own. "Look at me."

Her ability to seemingly make him blush on command was going to be the death of him, he swore it. "Emma – "

"Look at _me_, Machias," she repeated, her sapphire eyes shining with affection; twin pools that he had lost himself in more times than he could count, painfully cliché as it was. "Look at me."

He did (of course he did, as if he could bring himself to do anything else) and the din surrounding them was reduced to an indistinct buzz as the scope of his world shrunk and shifted, tapering and refocusing with each passing moment…

And then there was Emma – only Emma – and he knew that it was good.

"… I don't know how you do that," a dazed Machias breathed, his heart now utterly calm.

"Magic," she teased, their movements still every bit as synchronized as they were under a combat link.

"I believe it."

She laughed, and it rang in his ears like a bell. "Thank you for agreeing to dance with me again, by the way. I know this isn't really your – "

Machias shook his head.

"It's all right, truly. Once in a while is hardly a tall order, and considering how much time we have to make up for… this is more than worth the mild discomfort."

He mumbled his way through the last part, but judging from the brilliant blush on Emma's face the sentiment was understood nonetheless.

"Machias…" she whispered, his name sacred on her lips. "Machias, I – "

* * *

"– see you took the opportunity to steal my book."

"Borrow," Emma stressed without looking up, her attention focused on the fine print. "I took the opportunity to borrow your book. This dress can't hold nearly as much as your suit jacket, you know. Besides, I thought you were talking with Fie?"

"Hiding _from _Fie would be a far more accurate assessment," the visibly harried Machias grumbled, brushing some dust off his slacks. "For some reason she's being very insistent on having me polish off this particular bottle of wine, Aidios only knows why."

She turned a page as she nodded slowly; the textbook symptom of a bibliophile that had heard without listening. "Hmm. Interesting."

He shot her a look of vexation when he took a seat next to her, making himself comfortable without fuss. "I appreciate your concern, Emma. Rest assured, I managed to remain sober despite her best efforts."

Another distracted nod, and Machias could only shake his head in resignation, though it wasn't as if he had any room to judge. He knew all too well what it was like to be under literature's insidious thrall.

"… You're about where I left off, aren't you?" he noted with interest.

"Just about," she replied. "I'm roughly a page away; I'll stop once I reach it, I wouldn't want to accidentally spoil things."

He waved a hand – not that she was looking, but it was the thought that counted. "By all means, feel free to keep reading. I wouldn't mind a little quiet time after dipping and dodging a determined jaeger."

She flashed him a small smile and closed the book with a satisfied flourish. "I'm sort of hoping you mean that literally. That would have been quite the sight."

He sniffed imperiously but said nothing, nor did he make an effort to move when she sidled up to him and slumped against his shoulder with a quiet sigh.

"Hello."

"Hi."

"Did you enjoy the book so far?"

"Hehe. Very much so."

"I'm glad. It's been a bit of a long day, hasn't it?"

"I can't really disagree, wonderful as it's been to see everyone again. It doesn't look like the party's quieted down any, though."

"With this particular bride and groom?" he asked dryly. "I wouldn't be surprised if we were here until tomorrow afternoon, quite frankly."

Emma giggled again at that, breathless and light, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd never tire of hearing it.

Their ears caught the faintest of music then; as one, they turned their heads to see Elliot and the other musicians starting another set as the guests of honor walked into the middle of a widening throng of people, and as the blonde dramatically extended his hand –

"Hehe. It really is fitting that he's starting the proceedings, isn't it?" Emma observed fondly, watching as the mock-protesting bride allowed herself to be pulled into the first dance of the evening, much to the raucous approval of the assembled guests.

Machias nodded, delicately adjusting his glasses as he spoke. "It would feel wrong if anyone else did."

She smiled against his shoulder but said nothing more, apparently more than content to sit with him and watch as other couples happily joined the fray.

Well, that just wouldn't do.

"Emma. You aren't feeling too tired right now, are you?"

"Not particularly," she answered, shifting against him. "Honestly, I think taking some time to borrow – "

"Steal."

"_Borrow_ your book," Emma pressed on smoothly, raising a hand to affectionately cradle his cheek while ignoring his look of exasperation, "helped out quite a bit. It let me find a moment of calm in the storm, so to speak. Why do you ask?"

Seconds later, her musical laugh rang out when Machias turned his gaze toward the makeshift dancefloor and then back toward Emma, the implication obvious.

"That's very kind of you," she said with a shake of her head, "but there's no need to impose on my account. I remember that you aren't the most avid dancer, Machias – it's all right."

He frowned. "Well, that's a little presumptuous. Maybe I'd _like_ to dance, Emma – did that thought ever cross your mind?"

"Are you saying it crossed yours?" Emma countered with an arched eyebrow, the playful riposte coming immediately. "Since when were you so enthusiastic about dancing, hmm?"

He opened his mouth –

_Since our once in a lifetime victory against utterly impossible odds._

_ Since we survived to see today, remember yesterday and dream of a better tomorrow._

_ Since I realized that so long as you'll have me… I want to dance all my dances with you._

– and swallowed, not uttering a word because there were people on all sides and what he had to say was only (always, forever) for her.

He could wait. Patience was a virtue, or so he had been told.

"… I have reasons."

Emma's eyes softened.

"Would you like to share?" she murmured, recognizing the shift in the air for what it was. Her hand came to gently rest on his forearm.

"At home, maybe," Machias said, smiling when she smiled; a reminder that she had a place to return to in Heimdallr, a reminder that his room was slowly becoming their room.

"Okay," Emma agreed with a blush, her fingertips slipping down to brush his palm. "That's fine with me. But going back to what you said earlier… I think I might be willing to take you up on your offer, though I have to warn you – "

"My feet are going to regret this immensely?" he quipped, knowing the mischievous look on her face all too well.

"Something to that effect."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take, but before I can; I should ask you properly, shouldn't I?"

Her smile widened as he stepped away. "I wouldn't be averse to the idea, no."

"Well then, Madam President," he intoned solemnly, extending his hand. "Would you do me the honor?"

Emma reached out, their warm fingers weaving together just as perfectly as they had the first time, and for a fleeting second or two – a trick of the light, perhaps – she swore the deep blue of his jacket had been replaced by Class VII's signature red. "I would love to."

(She stole a kiss as they closed the distance, and he followed when she pulled away, lost in the scent of strawberry scented hair).


End file.
